The Holmes' Are A Headache
by Meowbowwow
Summary: Mystrade And Johnlock. Mycroft's unwell and has been advised to stay off sweets because of his high sugar levels. Sadly, John gets to be the nurse, accompanied by Sherlock as he realises HOW utterly impossible it is to live with two Holmes' under a roof.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, I wanted to write some nice fluff, but apparently, my brain had other ideas. This is SMUT, mature readers only but there is going to be loads of cracky fluff, if you are unfortunate enough to stick. Have fun. Leave reviews so that I know that you want more chapters.**  
**xoxo**

Your brother is unwell - JW  
Are you there? - JW  
Sherlock! - JW  
No use ignoring me - JW  
SHERLOCK! - JW  
No sex for a month. - JW  
Why, what, whoa! - SH  
Mycroft is unwell. - JW  
SO? - SH  
Lestrade's out of town - JW  
SO? - SH  
We need to take care of him - JW  
WE? - SH  
Fine, I'll be staying over at his place for the weekend. See you on Monday - JW  
... - SH  
...-SH  
Open the damn door will you! - SH

John smiled to himself as he heard Sherlock's impatience ringing in the bell as if the bell was Mycroft's nose or something. Sherlock was pouting when he opened the door and walked in without a word.

"Not so fast," John said, tugging at his arm and turned him around, pinning him against the door and holding his wrists together on top of his head. He then planted a wet kiss on top of his lips and felt Sherlock moan, petulantly trying to pull his hands free but leaning into the kiss anyway. John coaxed his lips open with his tongue and gently brushed them with the tip, eliciting more moans and further attempts from Sherlock to pull free. At last, he let his hand drop away from Sherlock's wrists, using it to cup his cheeks and bending in to fully ravish the detective's glorious mouth. Sherlock immediately pulled John together with his free hands and tangled their tongues, sucking on it and making the most exquisite of sounds.

"You mad wanker, I love it when I make you moan like that," John said, in between kisses.  
Sherlock loved to be flattered and surprisingly, the dirty talking turned him on. So, John continued. "You look gorgeous when you're all needy and begging, you know. I really want to take you in my mouth and deny you till you become a begging mess, and then I'll suck you so hard and so deep that your knees will buckle as you come inside my mouth," he panted. The kiss became frantic, messier and they could feel their erections begging to be freed from the trousers. Sherlock was frotting against John now, moaning in his ears and he nibbled on John's lobe and cupped his arse with his free hands.

"What are you two doing there?" came Mycroft's impatient voice from upstairs, it sounded throaty and nasal.

"Nothing you haven't done with Lestrade," Sherlock replied with annoyance and contnued his fresh assault on John's neck, making it a point to bite and suck deeply to leave a mark (somehow he felt that it would annoy Mycroft more). He made an angry noise when John started pulling away and gestured towards a small bathroom down the lobby. They kissed their way inside it and John pulled both their pants down to their ankles, groaning in pleasure and in agony simultaneously.

Sherlock pushed him back against the tiled walls, disturbing the contents of the stand as he rubbed their bare erections against each other and made wonderful obscene noises, the very sounds of which pushed John near the edge.  
"Fuck John, fuck me please," he breathed in a low whisper. John obliged his request in a second by stepping out of his pants and reversing their positions again. Sherlock stepped gingerly out of his and then, they were both naked from waist down, Sherlock's head back and eyes heavy and lidded, pleasurable moans fuelling John on.

They saw the lube on the upturned stand, still balanced precariously but as he met Sherlock's eyes, they decided that it was best if they stuck to the more conventional vaseline that had fallen across the tiles, into the tub, the very thought of using the lube almost putting them both off (which really says a lot). He rubbed the vaseline between his palms, taking a generous quantity and warming it before he slicked his entire length with it. Sherlock was looking at him hungrily, his lips parted and swollen from the kissing as John realised that they made the perfect heart when they were open like this.

Sherlock began fingering himself, starting with two fingers and adding another after a few turns, his desperation was evident from the noises he was making and John quickly put his arms under Sherlock's shoulders, signalling that he was done. Sherlock put his arms around John as his legs were slowly lifted and wrapped around John's waist, John's cock achingly close to his hole and oh so warm.

"Oh god-" Sherlock let escape as the head touched his entrance.  
"Please, John, fuck me, god, please - " he begged, rocking his hips, trying to fuck himself on John's cock. John put his hands on Sherlock's hips and gently pushed in, both of them moaning together. In a while, they had achieved a rhythm to get going as John found the bundle of nerves inside Sherlock, a little swollen. He hit it again and again and Sherlock whimpered under him and freed one arm to take his own erection in his hands.

He started pumping it vigorously, his voice low and sweat beading his forehead. They were both very close and as John felt Sherlock's muscles clench around him, they both came hard, swearing and shivering.

After a while as they got their wits back, sitting gingerly on the floor, carefully away from the clothes, Sherlock smirked, "After this, if you are withholding sex for a month, I am game for it."

"WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING IN MY BATH-" Mycroft's throaty wail was cut short as Sherlock screamed a reply in return. They quickly cleaned themselves up with the tissues, wore their crumpled trousers back, sighing.

Mycroft Holmes unwell and Sherlock to go with him, John was really going to have some weekend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Might seem a little OOC to some. Guess what? It is. :P This just happened. Hope you like it. Please leave reviews - good or bad, I'd love to know what you think of this.  
xoxo  
**  
"Mycroft you are not supposed to be working!"  
"Sherlock, for heaven's sake take the liver out of my kettle!"  
John groaned loudly as he stepped on an eyeball in the kitchen and landed with a thud on the floor. The damage and the pain was nothing compared the gross feeling that overtook him as he saw the squished remnant of the eyeball on the floor and yes, he was a doctor but no, that didn't prepare him for this.

"Enough!" John straightened himself and walked into the room where Mycroft was still sitting on his desk, nonchalantly reading a manila coloured paper, unaware that a VERY angry John Watson was counting till 10, teetering close to the edge of his patience. " . . . . .Bed," John said, stressing on every word as if willing God to bless him with more patience. Sherlock, who was lazily sprawled on the adjacent couch and who was rather aware of the tone, swiftly got up and scampered off into the kitchen to clean up his mess. It helped John's anger a little, to see the world's only consulting detective being made to clean up his mess.

Sherlock would always remember this moment to be one of his wisest ones 'cause in a few seconds, poor Mycroft who didn't know of John's I-was-a-soldier-I-had-bad-days tone and continued working, was shaken out of his revelry as John yanked the envelope from his hands and stuffed it into the drawer. Mycroft looked at him with wide eyes as John said, "In your bed. NOW!". Sherlock chose that moment to pop in and pulled his tongue out, quite enjoying his brother's predicament. He was aware, painfully so, of how strict John could be when he lost his cool.

"Done." he declared and wrapped his arms around John's torso, nuzzling his neck with his nose, trying very hard to be cute (and succeeding) as John sighed and petted his head. Sherlock gave Mycroft an overtly cheeky and victorious grin from the side, as the elder Holmes left the room, pouting all the way like it was the Holmes way of defying people they couldn't smart mouth away.

Oh dear god - JW  
What? - GL  
They are so alike, no wonder they don't get along - JW  
Ha! - GL  
When are you coming back? - JW  
Usual, Monday - GL  
Hmm, cya. If I survive, that is - JW  
Good luck ;) - GL

The house was eerily quiet as John was preparing lunch is a very clean kitchen. Mycroft had perked up at the mention of Chicken Pepper soup and the soup was now sitting on the stove, smelling delicious. He took it off and let it simmer under the lid as he took the bowls out, the clinking jarring against the quiet house. After the table was set, John peeked inside the living room and couldn't find Sherlock. He heard voices upstairs and decided to check, sighing because he knew that the Holmes boys in the same room could never be good news.

However, he was surprised when he found them sitting like civil people, Mycroft tucked into his bed and Sherlock sitting on a chair, discussing something very seriously. He decided that they better have lunch in Mycroft's room and brought all the food upstairs. Mycroft was still not looking at him and took the soup without a word, John had faced enough of Sherlock's sulking silent treatments in the past and knew from experience that he rather preferred it.

They ate their lunch silently, the silence suspicious but welcome with Sherlock and Mycroft making certain random and disconnected declarations every now and then and John ignoring them both (as usual). Finally, when lunch was over, John cleaned up and Mycroft thanked him quietly as he left the room.

Syrup at 2pm. BEST OF LUCK. Hates it - GL

John realised that it was a minute past two already and quickly retrieved the syrup from the medicine cabinet in the kitchen, washing the measuring cap on top of it and carefully pouring out 10ml of the thing. As he started making his way up, he thought he heard voices. After a few steps, he was definitely sure that the voices were raised. When he reached the landing, a steel tumbler flew out of the room and landed with the clang on the floor, rolling past John. "Oh god," groaned John.

No one could have prepared John Watson for the sight that he was about to witness. After waiting on the landing for a few minutes, trying to gauge the aftermath of the war and ducking away from a dictionary and Sherlock's deer stalker hat (what was it doing there?) being used like a perfect death frisbee, John carefully made his way inside the room. Sherlock had pulled the writing desk to the middle of the room and was crouching behind it, a stack of books next to him as he screamed a retort to Mycroft who was standing behind the bed, a photo frame, a water bottle and a few pillows in front of him.

"I am the only consulting detective in the world. OF COURSE I am smarter than you!" Sherlock screamed, too busy to notice John standing at the door.  
"Oh yeah, consulting dumbass! I AM the British government. Which is ,much MUCH bigger that your little detective toy shop would ever be!" Mycroft's throaty rasp retorted.  
"I always beat you at Chess." Swooosh! A book went past the writing desk and grazed the top of Mycroft's head.  
"You always win? What world is this that you talk of? We've only played twice, you won ONCE and the other was a draw! OR DID YOU TAKE THIS OFF YOUR MIND PALACE!" Mycroft threw the bottle with a sort of spin to it and it hit Sherlock squarely on the jaw.

Before Sherlock could retort with another book, John stepped right between them and glared at the room in general, imploring them to come out and be adults. But nothing of the sort happened as books and pillows and photo frames continued to fly over his head, statements of childhood games of UNO and god-knows-what accompanying them. Finally, the ammunition was exhausted and after a while, the arguing stopped too. Mycroft was coughing heavily and that reminded John that he was still holding the cap full of syrup.

"Mycroft, take your medicine. Sherlock, OUT!" John ordered, holding out the medicine for Mycroft.  
"Nopes. Don't like. Don't want. Sorry, doctor," pat came the reply.  
"Oh ho ho, you are going to so regret that!" Sherlock sniggered but was silenced by a killing stare from John.  
"Medicine, Mycroft. Quick." John said, taking a step towards Mycroft. Before anything could be made sense of, a pillow hit him on the face.  
"WE ARE NOT KIDS! WILL YOU TWO GRO-" screamed John as the medicine was knocked out of his hand. A number of things happened at once. There was the sound of gun shot, police sirens and someone was ringing the bell with impatience.

"Great..." thought John groaning.


	3. Chapter 3

**The last chapter, people. Thanks to those who stuck around. :)**

The pillow had hit him harder than expected and his eyes started watering immediately, he moved around to hold something as everything seemed blurry  
for a while. He was aware of the knocked syrup cap still rolling around near his heel as he found the corner and sat down with his head in his hands.

Sirens blared loudly, bringing him out of his thoughts as he opened his eyes to scan the room. Sherlock was peeking out from behind the writing desk, his eyes  
wide and mouth open and Mycroft seemed to be frozen on the spot, his position unchanged from when he had thrown his last item, though his eyes were wide  
too. John sighed, deciding that he would deal with these two later as the someone rang the bell again, this time screaming for the door to be opened.

The voice seemed familiar but in all the confusion of watering eyes, a sudden headache and the irritating sirens, John could really not place who it belonged  
to. He dragged himself out of the room, not even bothering to look back the mess and walking down the stairs as swiftly as he could. The bell was pushed  
again and this time, held on till it seemed like John was in a very bad movie, with the reel stuck at the action sequence.

Out of habit, he peeked out of the curtains before opening the door and to his amusement and surprise, saw Lestrade standing there. Lestrade was still in  
informal clothes, heavily tanned, the gun looking slightly out of place in his hands. He saw John's face peering out from behind the curtains and lowered the  
gun down, disbelief written all over his face.

John opened the door and saw some police cars lined up, covering the building from all sides. A helicopter had landed on the roof and men in black uniforms  
were getting off it, making their way on to the edge and trying to get through to the window.  
"The neighbours heard voices and things crashing out of the window. They called the police and well, I was informed.." Greg started explaining, ending with a  
rather lame look on his face, reddening upto his collar. "Well, we are, erm, pretty loud sometimes and there were, erm, false alarms before, so...the police called me first before actually doing something. I was coming back, to surprise you all..."he finished, suddenly getting interested in his shoes.

"I can explain. Ask them to come down," John said, hiding a smile. Lestrade said a few words on his talkie and motioned the men to come back as John spoke to the  
other people, trying to explain that it had been a BIG confusion.

"I tried calling you, where were you?" Lestrade asked after a few minutes as the cars started clearing and the sound of the helicopter died away. John instinctively checked his pocket for his phone and realised that he had left it in the kitchen. He had no wish to go back to the mess and decided to sit with Lestrade in the nearest coffee shop.

"...and then, a fucking flying pillow flies out of somewhere and hits me on the face and fucking sirens are blaring and I'm thinking that I'm dead and hell is this one  
big bad musical!" John replied, stopping for taking a mouthful of coffee as Lestrade clutched at his sides, laughing hard. They had been sitting there for 3  
hours or so, John recounting the events of the day, much to Greg's amusement.

At last, the coffee was finished, laughter died and it was time to go back to the madhouse. Greg was grinning still when they reached the flat. It was very quiet  
as John took out the key and the two of them got in. No Holmes or any dead body was lying around. They smelled to check for possible gas attacks but none  
were found. After meticulous inspection where Lestrade exhausted all his knowledge of Scotland Yard's best practices of dealing with ransomed houses,  
they closed the door and made their way up the stairs.

To say that John was shocked would be saying that unicorns are 'just alright'. The room was spotless, everything was at its place, there were no lethal looking  
items lying around, the furniture had been pulled back to its original position. John might have considered the entire nonsense of a day as a mere hallucination but he suddenly spotted the hole in the window (possibly what had called helicopters and what-nots to their aid) and elbowed Lestrade. Lestrade, who had so far been rather quiet and had been thinking that maybe John had actually imagined the humorous episode, looked at the break in the glass and nodded.

However, this wasn't the shocking bit. The appalling bit was where two bodies, equally pale, though one lankier than the other, lying on the bed at two corners, looking  
as if they had just fallen down exhausted after clearing all the mess. Sherlock was sleeping face down, his left leg out of the bed and ass in the air, a  
mop of black curls somewhere where the head should be. He was fast asleep at that awkward angle. Mycroft looked a little more refined, though John would use any word but that for him after the show he had seen a few hours ago. He was on his back, dressing gown wrapped up hastily and both his feet touching the ground. It looked like he had just taken a few moments to close his eyes and had actually fallen asleep.

The evening was drawing to a close, pale light filtering into the room through the broken glass and making shapes dance on the sleeping bodies, a low wind rustled in to further the illusion of calm and quiet. John felt anger drain away from his limbs slowly as Sherlock made a small sound in his sleep and turned to lay down on his side, his mouth open and face peaceful.

If Lestrade and John noticed each other's dopey expressions, none of them would ever mention it (it was in the Code of Unutterable Things, Page 3, The  
Book Of Being With a Holmes). John gently walked up to Sherlock's sleepy form and ran his fingers through the curly hair, feeling the scalp under his tips and brushing the hair off the detective's eyes. Sherlock opened his eyes a fraction and leaned into the touch, purring. Aware of Lestrade's presence just beside him, he bent down and whispered in Sherlock's ears, "You can sleep in our room, get up now."

John left the room, smiling at Lestrade who was drawing Mycroft's legs up and positioning them on the mattress, pulling the covers over him as Sherlock got up  
and rubbed his eyes. Then Lestrade bent down and planted a kiss on top of the still asleep Mycroft, still tucking him in under the covers as Sherlock looked at  
them. As Lestrade was pulling a pillow out from behind the bed, Mycroft opened his eyes and pulled out his tongue at Sherlock, scowling a victorious scowl.  
Sherlock wanted to retaliate but Lestrade was now arranging the pillow next to his lover and he really did want to leave the room. He hurried out, making a  
mental note to pick Mycroft on his weight the next day.

He walked into the smaller bedroom to find John sitting on the edge of the bed, checking something on his phone and draped himself on his shoulder, his forehead resting snugly against John's pulse and he kissed the side of his neck and purred into his hair. John smiled and pulled him down for a chaste kiss on the lips, motioning  
him towards the bed.

As Sherlock dived inside the covers, pulling them upto his chin and looking at John like a child, John discarded his jumper on the armchair and snuggled right  
beside him. Sherlock spooned him from behind and whispered in his ear, "I drive you up the wall, don't I?"  
"Well, yes, you do," John fidgeted a little so that Sherlock's knees were perfectly tucked behind his own and Sherlock's chin was brushing against the top of his  
head. It was warm and cozy, days like these were rare and welcome.

Sherlock kissed the shell of his ear, nibbling playfully.  
"I do love you, you know that. For putting up with me and everything," he mumbled, sucking on the lobe.  
"I know, Sherlock." John let Sherlock rest his cheek against his own as he started drifting off to sleep only to find a squirming Sherlock disturb him with impatient  
huffing.  
"What?" John turned around, a little annoyed.  
"What about you?" Sherlock said, eyebrows knitted together.  
"What about me?" John was confused.  
"YOU DIDN'T SAY IT BACK!" Sherlock pouted.  
"Oh god, yes, you imbecile, I love you too. Dear Lord-" his rant was cut midway by glorious lips claiming his mouth. Sherlock broke it, smirking at having silenced John Watson as he wrapped his arms around John's front, this time really planning to go to sleep.

* * *

"I know you're awake, Myc," Lestrade said, removing his shirt and snuggling under the covers with his boyfriend who thought he was being very clever when he pulled out his tongue at his brother and was feigning sleep now.

"You should work for the Scotland Yard, Gregory," came Mycroft's low voice but it wasn't taunting like people were used to hearing from him, it was calm and playful and still croaky. He sniffled as Lestrade felt his forehead for temperature.

"A fight with your brother did you pretty good, eh? Fever's gone." Lestrade said, drawing him closer.

Mycroft wrapped his arms around his lover's strong torso, putting his forehead against Lestrade's chest as he was wrapped in a warm embrace.  
"Go to sleep, Myc," Greg said, kissing the top of his head.  
"Not sleepy," mumbled Mycroft, letting his hands roam around his lover's bare back to get the I-am-rather-awake-baby-I'd-like-to-fuck message across.

He licked a patch of Lestrade's clavicle, dipping in gently to suck, his breath still very warm as Lestrade tensed under him, a soft moan escaping as Mycroft grazed his teeth against his skin. Mycroft took a nipple in his mouth as Lestrade gasped loudly, and sucked on it,. His hands dipped inside Greg's pants to  
knead his buttocks gently.

"Myc-oh god," Greg moaned as Mycroft took the other nipple between his thumb and index finger and tweaked it ever so lightly, his other hand tugging Greg's  
pants off, leaving him completely naked and freeing his aching hard on.

"Mmm," Mycroft mumbled approvingly as he was flipped over and Greg grabbed his mouth in a heated kiss, letting his tongue travel inside that warm mouth and brush gently against the roof. He sucked on Mycroft's lower lip, his hands now undoing his trousers and throwing them away. He pulled the gown away and the shirt up to  
reveal Mycroft's stomach peppered with a line of hair at the bottom that Greg slid towards to lick.

"Oh fuck, Myc," Lestrade moaned as Mycroft pulled him up and straddled his hips from the bottom, their erections rubbing against each other.  
"Yes, fuck Myc, please please fuck Myc," Mycroft crooned in Greg's ears, turning him on even more.  
They continued kissing hungrily and frotting, the sound of their pleasured moans and kissing filling the room. Mycroft took both their erections in hand and started pumping fervently, knowing that both of them were too close as he gripped at the base tightly and arched his back into the touch. Greg knew how much Mycroft loved to be teased, to be tipped over the edge as he fumbled for some lube in the slide drawer. Slicking his fingers, he gently touched the puckered entrance, barely pressing his thumb in and watching Mycroft whimper.

He pushed a finger in, drinking in Mycroft's groans and circling them a little. Mycroft rocked back in desperation but Greg kissed his chest, whispering, "Easy now, let me do it." Mycroft mumbled a response which turned into gasps as Lestrade pushed another finger in, slowly scissoring the two and watching his lover melt. Slowly, his fingers found the prostrate and he let the tips brush around it. Mycroft was a pleading mess now, his hands clawing at Greg's back and disconnected words escaping him in a tumult.

"Turn around, Myc," Greg whispered softly in his ears and Mycroft slowly turned around, letting Lestrade take control. He spread his legs wide and Lestrade entered him with an appreciative grunt as they were both on their sides now. Lestrade took Mycroft's erection in his hands after a few slides and pumped in tandem with his motions. They came together, well almost together, and sipped over each other, groaning in sweat as Mycroft landed softly on his back, Greg drawing out and his arm resting over his eyes. After a while, he got up and quickly padded down to the bathroom, bringing a wet towel and cleaning both of them up as Mycroft coughed gently. After putting his trousers on, he then went downstairs and found the syrup, also retrieving a clean spoon and a bottle of water with him.

Mycroft made a face as he saw him with the syrup and turned his face around, diving under the covers, still very naked.  
"Come on, Myc," Lestrade said, coaxing his lover massaging his shoulders as Mycroft purred under him.  
"Alright, let's get done with the ghastly thing as soon as we can and I can have a peaceful lie in with my boyfriend," he gulped the syrup in one go and scrunched his nose in distaste as a pair of lips landed on top of him, driving the taste away.

They snuggled closer till they were comfortable, Greg falling asleep immediately, as always and Mycroft watching him till he couldn't keep his eyes  
open anymore.


End file.
